


Whine Pairings

by Krissielee



Category: Kingsman: The Secret Service (2015)
Genre: M/M, Pre-Slash, Wine
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-19
Updated: 2016-05-19
Packaged: 2018-06-09 12:13:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,682
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6906592
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Krissielee/pseuds/Krissielee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>… or, Five times Eggsy tried to be proper for Harry, and one time it wasn’t worth it</p><p>Eggsy thinks wine is rank, but he’ll do anything to make Harry look at him so fondly.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Whine Pairings

**Author's Note:**

  * For [mockingjaybee](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mockingjaybee/gifts).



> Holy crap I wrote things! Been a while, yeah? Bet nobody missed me anyway. ;)
> 
> ANYWAY, this is for Jaybee, because she's had the shittiest everything recently, and she wanted a fic with Eggsy hating wine and only drinking it because of Harry. This is what happened.
> 
> Betaed by Dia, who's just perfect.
> 
> Also, I'm teetotal, so every single wine thing here is internet-found. If it's wrong, blame google.

Gewurtztraminer

“Now this wine pairs well with the curried pork we’re having,” Harry explained. “The Gewurtztraminer is a sweeter wine, with hints of grapefruit, peach, and lychee.”

Eggsy nodded, taking a small sip of the wine as Harry had taught him. It all tasted like piss to him, but Harry was practically a sommelier—apparently he’d gone undercover years ago and needed to know his shit—and Eggsy didn’t want to disappoint him in this. So he hummed, pretending he could taste the sweet and not just bitter acidic wine-alcohol. “It’s good,” he said, taking a big bite of the curried pork to get the taste out of his mouth. That, at least, was delicious, and if it’d been paired with an ale or pretty much anything that wasn’t wine, Eggsy wouldn’t have found a single fault in the entire meal.

But Harry smiled at him, all soft and indulgent and impossibly fond, and Eggsy knew he’d do this as long as he needed to, as long as he possibly could, just to keep those eyes on him.

\--

Bordeaux

“Holy shit, Harry,” Eggsy breathed upon his first bite of the guinea fowl pastilla. “Better’n sex, it is.”

Harry smiled, though he didn’t acknowledge the praise but to take a sip of his wine. “The Bordeaux Rouge’s berry notes and hints of liquorice bring out the sweeter notes of the guinea and blend well with the honey,” he lectured, and Eggsy obediently took a sip of the wine, hiding his grimace.

He couldn’t taste a single one of those notes Harry was talking about—wasn’t even sure what he meant by it. It tasted like … well, like wine, he supposed.

He nodded anyway, humming thoughtfully. “S’not as good as the food,” Eggsy prevaricated as he savoured the pastry dough and pine nuts. If he only took a few sips of the wine he’d get through the meal just fine.

Harry kept his glass topped off, unfortunately, and Eggsy sipped his way through the meal—including seconds of the pastilla. It really was ace. _Harry_ was ace.

\--

Riesling

“Now, Riesling is a bit difficult to get used to,” Harry began, “because the petrol-like aroma can be a bit off-putting.”

A _bit_? Eggsy sniffed the glass hesitantly, and yeah—he might not know shit about wine, but he’d siphoned gas a few times in his life and knew that whatever ended up in his mouth after a whiff of that was likely to be rank as hell.

But he took a sip anyway, schooling his features to not give away that it tasted worse than the shit he’d sucked out of Rotti’s car. 

“Do you taste the citrus?” Harry asked, and Eggsy nodded. “That’s why this particular variety of wine is good for dishes that complement that note—the lime and jalapeno in the sauce will enhance the snapper.”

“If the food’s as good as what you usually make, then I’m sure it’ll do what you want,” Eggsy replied, cutting a bite of the snapper to taste. It wasn’t half bad; the lime there, at least, was easily discernible.

But Harry was watching him, and so Eggsy sat up a little straighter, acted a little posher, playing the part of a toff. “I rather feel the vintage is too young for the dish,” he sniffed.

Harry’s laugh was worth it, as was seeing the tomatillo chunk sticking to his glasses after he composed himself. How it got there, Eggsy was sure not even Harry would know. But he smiled softly, memorising the image forever, of the man he was so impossibly fond of as a human being, not wholly perfect, but just perfect enough.

\--

Bandol

“Ooh, smells good, guv,” Eggsy said as Harry let him into the house. “What’re we havin’ tonight?” 

“Smoked duck, paired with a Bandol—it’s a fruitier wine, but with the denser flavour of the meat, it’ll show its full palette.”

Eggsy hummed, following Harry back into the kitchen after tossing his coat over the stair rail. He still wasn’t used to the idea of a coat rack; Harry would sigh and move the jacket to hang beside his own coat when he caught wise. “Anything I can do?”

“Set the table—you remember the proper place settings?” Harry asked, looking ready to launch back into a lecture. 

Eggsy, though, well remembered their first breakfast together, when Harry had laid out the entirety of his silverware to teach Eggsy which forks and knives went with which dishes, taught him how to set the table, and how to eat properly. Harry looked much like he did then, now: crisp white shirt and his striped apron, both gently splattered with grease and streaks of flour and spices, though his sleeves were rolled up now and he’d forgone a tie. His hair was loose, a few strands having escaped and curling near his ears. He looked … soft, somehow, despite how ruthless Eggsy knew the man could be. 

“Nah, I got it—salad, dinner, an’ we doin’ anything for pud?”

“Nothing special. A simple custard.”

“Gonna be any left to take home? Mum loves custard,” Eggsy said as he grabbed the utensils and set the table for the two of them, hesitating only a moment before setting out candles as well.

“Of course I made enough for you to take home,” Harry replied. “There’s even fresh whipped cream for your sister.”

And for that, Eggsy would endure anything—Harry adored Daisy, and treated her like the princess she was.

“She’ll like that,” Eggsy said, voice a little choked up as he set out the wine glasses—Harry had some 20-odd types of stemware, and odds were on for Eggsy to have picked the wrong ones for this Bandol. “She loves your food, yeah?”

“Perhaps next weekend you should bring your family to dinner, then.”

Eggsy must have made an affirmative sound, but all he could think was how much more he loved Harry for that. Even Dean hadn’t cared about his own daughter the way Harry did.

\--

Prosecco

Harry held the door open for him as he limped into the man’s house. His mission had run long, and not been as easy as he’d expected—he’d pulled a few muscles pretty bad, but he had an appointment to keep.

Even if it was for wine, it was still for _Harry_ , and Eggsy was determined to stick it out.

“Are you quite sure you’re feeling all right, Eggsy?” Harry asked as Eggsy dropped heavily on the couch.

“Yeah—jus’ don’t expect me to make it to the dining room tonight.”

Harry smiled. “Then I suppose it’s good luck that tonight I’ve made up a plate to pair with a nice Prosecco.” Eggsy’s confusion must have been clear, because Harry went on. “Prosecco is a sparkling wine, sweeter than champagne with frothier bubbles. There are distinct notes of cream, vanilla, and hazelnut, so it will pair well with hard cheese, cured meats, and fruits.”

Eggsy paused as he thought about what that might entail. “So you made up a simple cheese plate.”

Harry looked distinctly affronted by that accusation, and Eggsy grinned. “I’s jokin’, mate. Come on, then—I’m famished.”

They ate with the wireless playing in the background, the capocolla and camembert blending well with the epoisses and asparagus. Eggsy hadn’t heard of most of the shit Harry’d plated for them, but it was all delicious, and he said as much, in between the smallest sips of the bubbly wine he could manage without being rude.

Dessert was vanilla ice cream with crushed peppermint candies on top.

“It’s all ace, Harry,” Eggsy said, and Harry’s face held such a warmth that Eggsy leaned against him, wanting to really soak in the affection.

He’d blame it on the pain meds later.

\--

Pouilly Fuisse

“What’s on the menu tonight, Harry?” Eggsy asked, slipping into the man’s house and pocketing his key. 

“Oysters,” Harry called from the kitchen, and Eggsy paled. He _hated_ oysters. Usually he could get through the shit wine with Harry’s brilliant cooking, but this? This was too far.

“And the wine?” he asked hesitantly, knowing he was sealing his fate for a terrible evening if he went through with this.

“I thought champagne for the raw ones—the appetizer—and a Pouilly Fuisse for the broiled main course. It’s nutty enough to add an extra flavour profile to the shellfish.”

Eggsy banged his head against the wall. “I can’t do it, Harry!” he said. “I—I just can’t. It’s all shit, innit?”

“Eggsy?” Harry asked, stepping into view, looking a bit distraught, and Eggsy almost faltered, but he needed to say it.

“Wine. All of it. It’s fuckin’ rank, an’ I hate it, but I’m doin’ this for _you_ an’ I know you ain’t gonna fall for some stupid kid like me but I can’t pretend to like wine _and_ oysters at the same time—I’ll sick up, Haz,” Eggsy said, taking a deep breath as he waited for the inevitable.

Harry was quiet as he went back into the kitchen, and Eggsy stuck by the door, ready to bolt should the situation call for it, but his hand stilled on the knob when he heard the unmistakable sound of dinner being binned. 

“If you’ll call the curry stop around the corner, I’ve some beers we can drink instead,” Harry called softly.

“You ain’t mad?” Eggsy asked, shocked.

“I’m more mad at myself for not noticing,” Harry admitted, carrying out the beers, prompting Eggsy to dial the curry place, picking up where he left off as soon as he’d hung up. “I rather expect it’s a failing of mine where you’re concerned.” He put a hand over Eggsy’s, pulling him back into the den. “Had you told me before …”

“Nah, was doin’ it for you,” Eggsy mumbled, watching their intertwined hands. “But I ain’t eatin’ raw oysters with the rest of it.”

They fell silent as they waited, but it wasn’t tense; Eggsy felt better for having admitted it, but Harry hadn’t yet dropped his hand. 

He smiled slightly, pretty sure it was really okay.


End file.
